The Cowboy And The Cop

Chapter Five (#uef810a4d-3d57-5a5f-871c-2f4d9356d953)

Luke had to look twice to locate the Chapman place.

It had gotten much worse since the last time he’d been home.

The sad-looking ranch house sat in the middle of a junkyard just inside the Beaumont town limits. In fact, when people read the Welcome to Beaumont sign, the first thing on their left was the Chapman place.

It looked like it needed a couple coats of paint, which should be easy judging by the rows of rusted paint cans dotting a little patch of lawn. Junk cars and shelving units stuffed with car parts dwarfed the house.

Ninety-nine point nine percent of the town looked on this junkyard as a blight on the historic, nice-looking town. It was common knowledge that several townspeople kept an eye on the tax rolls, hoping that Marv Chapman would slip up and not pay his taxes. Then they could buy the house at auction and level everything.

Funny, now the Beaumont Ranch, which spread its acres behind the town like a benevolent kingdom, was a blight in its present condition, too.

Thinking of the two families made him feel miserable. How ironic it was that his father was an alcoholic and Amber’s father made booze. Maybe he should have befriended Amber earlier, in high school, but it had never crossed his mind, a mind full of riding bulls and gold belt buckles.

Neither of them was like their father, and they both had to bear the emotional scars.

“You know, Luke. I was just thinking... My brothers are pretty good with a hammer. Maybe they can help you rebuild.”

It was just on Luke’s lips that charity begins at home, but he had no right to say such a thing. Then it dawned on him that it would bring him closer to Amber, and he liked that idea. Then again, he hated to ask for help.

“Thanks. But I don’t want to bother them. They probably have better things to do.”

“That’s what we do here in Beaumont,” she said. “We help our neighbors.”

“I can pay as long as our money lasts and my brothers keep winning.”

She turned off her car. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, but I think that a guy should be paid for his labor.”

“And I think that neighbors should help neighbors. You can provide the food and drink.”

He nodded as he waited for Amber to lead the way up the rotted stairs to the front door of her father’s house.

She pointed. “Watch this rotted lumber.” She stepped over the offensive boards.

“Got it.”

On the front porch, she knocked on the door then walked in. “I brought us some company.”

“Why, Luke Beaumont.” Marv Chapman pulled him into what Luke assumed was the family room. “Welcome.”

He shook his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Chapman.”

Amber gave her father a hug. “I brought Luke with me. He just got the ranch back at auction, and he’s going to be hanging around town for a while fixing it up.”

“Great to see you, Luke. Sorry about your ranch,” Marv said. “Me and the boys hung up some plywood on your windows. Hope it did some good.”

“I have you to thank?” he asked. “I really appreciate it.”

“You have Amber to thank. She nagged us until we did it.”

He looked over at Amber. She was shifting on her feet and looking uncomfortable.

He had her to thank for a lot of things. If she hadn’t come to the autographing, the developers from Texas would be the new owners of the Beaumont Ranch.

There was so much more to her than the girl he once knew, and he’d like to get to know her better. He already knew that she had principles and loved Beaumont, and followed bull riding. They had that in common.

“Sit down, Luke. Sit down.” Amber pointed to a chair.

He had to step around a motor hanging from a rack. After he sat, he saw hundreds of wooden crates containing canning jars in various sizes.

Amber must have noticed his surprise. “They’re not moonshining anymore,” Amber said again, apparently feeling the need to explain. “So, then, Dad, what the hell are all those jars doing here?”

“Storage. I’m simply storing them for now.”

“I swear, Dad. If you are moonshining, I will—”

“Amber, stop. Will you quit being a cop for a while and just enjoy the evening with your family and Luke?”

“I can’t. I know my family and what they’re capable of. That’s why Mom isn’t here. Don’t you get that?”

Marv Chapman swore under his breath and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Sorry, Luke. It’s just our usual disagreement that we have to go through. I accuse and Dad denies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine. Matter of fact, when we visit my father later, I’ll bet that our disagreement will make yours seem like a little speed bump.”

Her father returned with a six-pack of beer. “I also have soda,” Marv said. “But the beer is nice and cold. Luke?”

“A beer sounds good to me.”

Luke popped the top and just about drained the can. It was cold and refreshing, and he didn’t realize how thirsty he was.

There was a commotion on the porch and Amber’s three brothers came crashing in. Luke remembered the ribbing they’d given him in high school. They’d continually called him the “Prince of Beaumont” and “Your Majesty.” There was more, but he didn’t want to go there. He remembered Amber telling them to be quiet, and she tried to move them along, but they’d pulled out of her grasp and shushed her as if she were a bothersome fly.

Maybe the Chapman Clowns—what he’d immaturely used to call them—had grown up.

The Chapman brothers each carried takeout bags. “Well, if it isn’t Luke, Prince of Beaumont,” said Ronnie.

Some things never change.

Mr. Chapman gestured with his hand. “You know my boys, Aaron, Ronnie and Kyle?”

Luke nodded. “Sure I do.”

There were handshakes all around—strong, manly, hand-pumping handshakes.